Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“See? It’s nice,” I said to Bella as she sat on the rustic piece being used as a couch.
They’d fashioned the legs and arms from what looked like tree branches, and the cushions were separate.
The thing was old and kind of lumpy looking.
It would be fine for sitting. Sleeping, however, was out of the question.
Bella kept a firm grip on the handle of her suitcase. “I think this is a really bad idea,” she admitted.
“Why?” Rather than argue with her, I was going to pick apart all of her reservations. I rolled my suitcase to what they were calling a dresser—no closet to be found—and started unpacking.
The cabin was basically two rooms. The bedroom area, where the bed and dresser were, took up one half of the space.
The small kitchenette and living room area took up the other half.
The bathroom was the size of a postage stamp and included a toilet and sink that were so close to one another you could sit on the toilet to brush your teeth and barely have to lean.
The shower was only big enough for one person, not that I had any intention of trying to get another person in there. That would be ridiculous.
“Preston knows,” she insisted. “He put us in the same cabin because he thought I would balk about sharing space with you.”
“And you didn’t, so now he’s questioning every assumption he had,” I pointed out. “That’s a good thing for us.”
“I guess.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and held it there. “What if he does sneak around to look in through the windows?”
“There are curtains,” I reminded her. “It’s not a big deal.
We’ll close them at night. I’m going to want to do that anyway so I don’t titillate the other authors when they get here.
I don’t want to give away tickets to the gun show for free.
” I flexed my biceps and kissed each one for emphasis as Bella glared at me.
“That was unbelievable,” she said finally, bursting into a fit of laughter. “I cannot believe you just did that with a straight face.”
It was stress fueling her, which meant I wanted to ease her anxiety. That’s why I flopped onto the couch next to her and took her hand. “Listen, he knows exactly how to get to you. He was doing it before you even realized it.”
“Today? I’m pretty sure he was out to get me from the start today.”
“Not that.” I solemnly shook my head. “From the moment he met you in college. He saw something in you he wanted and immediately started molding you so you would fit into his life. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
She released her grip on her suitcase and leaned back, her head resting against the cushion as she gazed over at me. “You think he targeted me in college? Why would he do that? I was just a little boho chick there on a partial scholarship. I was nothing special.”
“Of course you were, Bella.” How could she not see that? “You have an inner light. You might have lost the ability to see it—and I blame him for that—but you have it. I happen to like it a great deal. It’s like hanging out with the sun as a buddy.”
“I am not a sunshine girl.” She was adamant.
“You are to me.”
“But—”
“He chose you because he wanted to take advantage of the fact that he grew up in a different world than you did,” I insisted. “You expressed awe at the stories he was telling. That gave him the advantage.”
“You’re saying I was na?ve.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Believing people, having faith, those are amazing traits. Unfortunately, they’re the sort of traits people take advantage of. That’s not fair to you—not even a little—but he’s still trying to press that advantage.”
“I’m not going to let him do that.”
“We’re not going to let him do that,” I clarified. “You’re strong, obviously, but he’s going to try to get through your defenses to deal a killing blow. You have friends who want to help you. Let us.”
“How?” She looked so small sitting next to me on the couch. “How are we going to ruin this entire thing for him so he won’t want to ever meet another author in his life?”
I laughed at her phrasing. “See, now we’re talking.
” I squeezed her hand. She hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it.
At least I didn’t think she had. A little zing went through me whenever I touched her.
That was just because she was cute, I told myself.
I wasn’t interested in her like that. I just didn’t like it when people took advantage of other people, which was what this guy was trying to do to her.
I wouldn’t stand for that.
“We need to be somewhat affectionate around the campground,” I said to her. “I know it might feel weird—like really, really weird—but if he’s staying here, then he’s going to be watching us constantly. You can’t act uncomfortable when you’re around me.”
“So… we hold hands?” she asked, wrinkling her delicate nose.
“Amongst other things,” I confirmed.
Her eyes narrowed. “What other things?”
“Nothing that will make you feel uncomfortable,” I assured her. “That is not what I want.”
“So no kissing?”
“I happen to be an excellent kisser.”
“That’s far too personal, though.”
“Okay, but if we never kiss—not even on the cheek or hand—that is going to make him suspicious.”
“Don’t you think that’s a slippery slope?” she countered. “If we start kissing for show, won’t that lead to kissing for real?”
I snorted at the suggestion. “No offense, because you really are cute as a button, but I’m not looking for a relationship. You obviously aren’t either. You’re still trying to get over what he did to you.”
She straightened. “I’m over it.” She said it with such determination I wanted to reward her, tell her she was stronger than she realized. She was not over it, however.
“He makes your skin crawl,” I noted. “It’s obvious whenever you’re around him. He sees it too. That’s why he pushes the way he does.”
“If he knows he makes my skin crawl, why would he possibly pretend to want me back?”
“Because it’s a game to him. I think maybe it always was.”
She fell silent as she thought about it. “Right when we met in college, there was this guy named Jake. We were friends, both had an interest in art, and he was always encouraging me to branch out with different mediums.”
“I didn’t realize you were an artist.” For some reason, even though it was ridiculous to feel this way, I wanted to travel through time and smack Jake across the face. He might have been a good guy—Bella obviously thought so—but he wasn’t worthy of her. Maybe nobody was.
“I like dabbling in that stuff.” She smiled, as if remembering something funny. “There has never been a craft phase that my mother did not want to fully embrace. That includes decoupage, Taylor Swift friendship bracelets, adult coloring books, and ribbon art.”
“What’s ribbon art?”
“Nothing a boy would be interested in.”
“Okay.” I swallowed hard and pushed forward even though I didn’t want to talk about Jake. “Was this Jake an artist?”
“Yeah. He was really good too. He had this skater-boy thing going for him.”
Yup, I definitely hated this guy, especially the smile he put on her face.
“We flirted a bit, but it wasn’t a big deal,” she continued. “It was one of those ‘maybe it will happen’ things that kind of pops up in college. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Not really. I slept with everybody in college and then moved on after a few weeks.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
I shrugged. “I have a reputation for a reason.”
“Yes, I’ve been reading about your reputation.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you know that there are whole threads devoted to you in online writing groups?”
“Really?” Pleasure rolled through me. “What are they saying?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, especially if they’re praising my sexual prowess.” I linked my fingers and stretched my arms out until they cracked. “Lay it on me.”
“You do have a good reputation on that front,” she acknowledged. “People say you know what you’re doing.”
My grin turned lazy. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
“They also say you’re emotionally stunted and jump to the conclusion that everybody wants to be with you long term even if they just suggest getting coffee the next morning.”
I froze, unsure what my reaction was supposed to be here. “Okay.” I dragged out the word.
“Not every woman wants a relationship with you,” she explained in a patient tone.
“Like, I didn’t want a relationship with Jake back then.
We could have had a fling and remained friends after.
That is possible, and you’re cutting off a lot of authors if you have sex with them and then never talk to them again. ”
“It’s not as if I never talk to them again,” I protested, not liking—at all—the picture she was painting.
“Name one author you’ve had one of your infamous one-night stands with that you’re still in contact with,” she said. “I’ll wait.”
The pressure was excruciating. “I… cannot be expected to perform on demand,” I said finally. “I’m sure there’s somebody.” Try as I might, no matter how hard I racked my brain, there was nobody. “I don’t like this game.” I folded my arms over my chest, only realizing then that I’d released her hand.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Nathan,” she assured me.
“You make your intentions known and it’s not as if you chase children.
Heck, that’s the one thing everybody agrees on.
You never pursue anybody under the age of twenty-five or so.
You’re not looking for young women you can manipulate.
You’re having your dalliances with women who know what they’re getting into. ”
This felt like a trap. “I’m just not ready for a relationship.”